Anima Gemini
by snakehearted
Summary: Seven years after the war, Hermione Granger lives a quiet life devoted to her work. One day she discovers something that threatens to throw the wizarding world off balance. And she can't resist him.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione crumpled up her parchment with a disgruntled huff and hurled it into the Veil. The tattered black curtain rippled gently as the wad of paper passed through.

"Bugger," she said, her frustrated hiss echoing across the empty room. "I probably shouldn't have done that."

For several months Unspeakable Granger had been trying to discover an arithmantic equation that could predict the Veil's magic. She knew many had tried to decode its ancient magic before, but she was the Brightest Witch of Her Age; surely she had a decent chance.

Though it wasn't her specific job duty, Harry had pulled some strings to allow her to work on this special side project. Hermione had a fascination with the Veil that she couldn't explain. Whenever she entered the Death Chamber, every cell in her body seemed to tingle, and her mind raced with possibilities of unraveling its magical code.

She walked up to the Veil, the click of her sensible heels reverberating through the Chamber. She stood right before it and heard its familiar faint murmurings. In the beginning, the sense of presence behind the shimmering curtain unsettled her. Now, it was a familiar friend.

"Tell me your secrets." She whispered.

"_Hermione_," a faint voice murmured back.

Hermione jumped back as if shocked. Had she heard it correctly?

She was just being silly. She had been up all night thinking about number charts, it must have been some delusion of her sleep-addled mind.

"Tempus," she said in a shaky voice.

The time 23:47 appeared in front of her in shining gold numerals. Hermione hadn't meant to spend_ four hours_ studying the Veil. Time seemed to disappear when she was alone in the Death Chamber.

Gathering her things, Hermione left the Death Chamber and walked into the empty corridor of the Department of Mysteries, lost in thought. She didn't notice the way the Veil billowed when she turned her back.

—

The next morning, Hermione awoke drenched in cold sweat. Her head was pounding and her throat cracked with dryness. She stood up, groaning as her stomach turned, and ambled her way into the kitchen.

The flat was small, but seemed much bigger now that Ron had moved out. He had taken most of the furniture and wall decorations. Hermione had hated them when they were there, but now the room seemed barren. She didn't miss Ron much, or even get jealous of the many socialites he was photographed with in the Daily Prophet. She had her work and that was enough.

Hermione gulped down a glass of water and put a kettle on the stove. She could have made her tea magically, but the muggle way comforted her somehow. As the water boiled, she heard the sound of the Floo coming from the other room. She raked a hand through her unruly curls and and walked into the living room. Ginny's face was beaming through the fireplace. Even through the flames, her face looked flushed and plump, aglow with the joy of her second pregnancy.

"Hermione!"

"Hi, Ginny," she replied weakly. "How are you doing?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Ginny said in a singsong voice.

Hermione frowned.

"Er… am I?"

"We were supposed to go shopping for my baby shower today, remember? I need a new gown for the pictures."

"Oh, bollocks. I completely forgot. I'm so sorry, Ginny."

Hermione sighed at the prospect of spending hours at Madam Malkin's.

"I'm really not feeling well. I must have caught something at work. Is there any way we can reschedule?"

Ginny rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"It's fine, Hermione. I'll just go with Lav."

Hermione grimaced. Lavender was rumored to be one of Ron's new toys.

"Is there anything you need? I've probably got some pepper-up or cough draught lying around."

"That's all right, I should be fine. Thank you, though".

"Alright then. Harry and James say hello!"

Hermione smiled.

"Tell them I miss them".

The two girls said goodbye and Hermione was left staring out the window at the overcast London sky.

—

For the rest of the weekend, Hermione was bed-ridden, seemingly getting worse every hour. She had performed several diagnostic spells and could find nothing wrong with her. The bottles of pepper-up potion she gulped down barely seemed to help. When Monday morning rolled around, Hermione decided she'd go to work anyway. There was no way she could feel worse.

Hermione Floo'd into the Atrium and became overwhelmed with the flurry of activity. Walking quickly past the security desk, she kept her head down, letting her curls shield her face. Even seven years after the war, she was somewhat of a celebrity and couldn't go out in public without being recognized. She was thankful no one spoke to her in the lift.

As Hermione stepped into the circular room of the Department of Mysteries, the pounding headache that had been plaguing her all weekend immediately subsided. She was too relieved to question the coincidence.

Hermione entered her small cubicle and sat down at her desk, and the Department Head Miranda Firestone strode in right behind her.

"Ah, Hermione, just the person I was looking for," Firestone said, plopping an impossibly thick scroll onto Hermione's cluttered desk, "We just got these documents from the Institute of Durinn. Incredibly detailed ancient runework. I'll need a complete translation by the end of the day."

"I'll get right on that," Hermione replied with a tight smile.

Unlike Harry and Ron, Hermione had returned to Hogwarts after the war to finish her NEWTs. She had worked her way up from the bottom to a fairly important position at the Department of Mysteries. But the way Firestone saw her, she was just a glorified intern. Most of her days consisted of menial filing work rather than the real magical research she had hoped to be doing.

With a dispassionate sigh, Hermione unrolled the delicate parchment and began the tedious work of translation.

An hour after her coworkers had already left, Hermione finally finished her work. She magically filed it to her supervisor's mailbox and giddily scurried down the hall to the Death Chamber. Even though Hermione still felt feverish, she had brainstormed some new calculations that she had been missing before.

Hermione swung open the heavy door, and almost collapsed from the sudden cooling sensation that enveloped her body. She felt light, refreshed, and awakened for the first time in days. Stepping into the room felt like a cool, moist rag on her hot forehead.

"What in Godric's name…" Hermione said to herself.

Hermione racked her brain for a magical or medical explanation of the immediate relief of her symptoms, but couldn't think of anything. She would have to ask Hannah Abott, Neville's girlfriend who was training as a Healer, for any possible explanations.

Hermione gazed at the Veil from across the dark room. It seemed particularly shiny and inviting today. She felt something inside her pull her closer to the stone dais on which it stood.

When Hermione had first seen the Veil in her fifth year at Hogwarts, she hadn't been able to hear its whisperings. Now, she could perceive the quiet murmurs quite clearly, and they seemed to call out to her. She moved closer.

As she climbed the steps of the platform, the voices became louder. Hermione felt a heavy presence, stronger than what she had felt before. She knew she should be cautious, but she felt no fear. She stood directly in front of the Veil now, mesmerized by its gently rippling fabric.

"_Hermione. Hermione. Hermione._"

The sound of her name shocked Hermione out of her reverie. She jumped back as if burned. This time, she was absolutely sure she had heard her name.

Hermione was unsettled, but fascinated. She scribbled it in her notes for further research. While she often sat on the steps of the dais while doing her calculations, this time, she decided to work further away on the benches below.

—

"Hermione. Hermione. Hermione!"

She was awakened from a strange dream by a voice calling out to her. Hermione shot up, panicked. Harry was standing over her with a curious look on her face.

"Oh. It's you."

"You sound disappointed. I'm hurt," he joked.

Hermione laughed and stretched her sore back. It was then she realized she was lying at the foot of the dais. Was this where she had fallen asleep?

"How did I…."

"You must have fallen asleep here last night. Firestone is looking for you. You'd better get your arse to your desk, she's in a fit."

"Bollocks," Hermione groaned and gathered her things.

Throughout the day, as Hermione worked on her menial tasks, fragments of the dream kept returning to her. Dark, intense eyes that seemed to pierce her soul. A pang of intense desire. And cool, smooth scales slithering across her skin. She recalled these flashes sensation, but couldn't quite piece the dream together.

Hermione decided not to visit the Death Chamber that evening. After another late night at work, all she wanted to do was slip into a hot bath with a muggle romance novel.

At home, Hermione turned the faucet on and stripped off her clothes. As the water ran, she looked in the mirror. Her eyes were tired, face pale and drawn. She looked like she hadn't been eating or sleeping very well, which she hadn't. Hermione closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she could have sworn she saw a flash of black in her honey brown irises.

—

In the middle of the night, Hermione awoke with a raging fever. She leaned off the edge of the bed and violently emptied the contents of her stomach. She managed to wandlessly clean the mess before stumbling out of bed.

Hermione knew she had to get to St. Mungo's. There had to be something wrong with her, some dark curse or magical malady that she couldn't recognize. She threw on a robe, tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped in.

"St. Mungo's," Hermione croaked.

Only she never arrived at St. Mungo's.

Hermione found herself in the gilded hallway outside the Atrium. Without thinking, she knew where to go. With strength her body did not have, she staggered down the hallway into the lifts, and pounded level "9". She almost vomited again as the lift plummeted down to the lowest level. Hermione stumbled out of the elevator and down the hall until she reached the circular room. There, she turned the handle and pushed her body into the Death Chamber.

Unlike last time, relief was not immediate. Hermione had gained some strength from entering the room, but her body still raged with fever. She cried out with pain as she stepped closer to the veil, some unknown force pulling her closer.

When she reached the dais, Hermione crumpled on the steps.

"Please, no, oh Gods, no," she whimpered.

The force seemed to get stronger the closer Hermione got to the Veil. Pushing herself to her feet, she tried to step back, but only lurched forward. One hand reached forward as she climbed the steps on her hands and knees.

Hermione was crying in earnest now. No one had ever touched the Veil and survived. She knew that these would be her last moments. Her body kept moving jerkily until she stood before the veil and watched her hand plunge in. She closed her eyes.

Hermione hadn't expected to feel something on the other side. But there was a hand gripping hers tightly, not pulling her in, but almost trying to pull itself out. In horror, she fell back, yanking the hand and its attached form out. Hermione landed on the ground with a thud, a larger body following on top.

"Hello, Hermione," was the last thing she heard before she lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione's back hurt. During the war, she had sustained injuries to her spine that still flared up on cold days or when it rained. But now, Hermione's whole back was seizing, painful spasms rippling through her muscles. As her mind focused into clarity, Hermione realized her body was splayed on sharp, protruding rocks that dug into her flesh.

Hermione opened her eyes and saw nothing. Black. All she could hear was dripping water and the faint crash of waves from far away. Where the hell was she?

"Ah, you're awake," she heard a man's voice say. "My apologies, I didn't mean to tumble into you like that. You took quite a fall."

His voice reverberated around the what she now realized was a cave. She moved her head around furiously, struggling to find the source of the noise.

She could just barely make out a tall figure in the dark. The man whispered_ Lumos_, and his face was illuminated.

The man was incredibly handsome. He had penetrating grey eyes, a straight nose, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. The man had pale complexion and dark wavy hair, which was disheveled but didn't detract at all from his good looks. He was very tall, towering over her prone form. Hermione couldn't help but notice he was shirtless, and her eyes traveled down over his athletic physique.

"Who…who are you?" Hermione mumbled, still slightly delirious.

The man smiled, which sent annoying butterflies to the pit of her stomach. She mentally chastised herself for focusing on something silly as good looks when she was at risk.

"Don't you recognize me, Hermione?" The man asked, smiling at her. "I suppose you may never have seen me like this, but I'm sure you would have heard tell of my looks."

Hermione managed to sit up, groaning as her neck audibly cracked.

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell, she mumbled.

Hermione shoved her hand in her pockets and came up empty.

"Wait," she said, "where's my wand?"

The man smiled, and she realized it was her wand that was lighting the cave.

"Give that back." She demanded.

"I'm afraid I can't," the man said. "Not until I can find my own."

Hermione was about to give him a stern dressing-down about stealing wands, until she realized she was still in her pajama top and panties. She blushed and tried to cover herself.

"I've also had to borrow your dressing gown to transfigure myself some trousers," the man said.

Hermione noticed he was wearing silky black pants, the same material as her satin robe.

"I was in quite a state of undress when I came out of the Veil," the man said with a smirk.

A look of confusion overcame Hermione's glare.

"What do you mean, came out of the Veil?" she said. "No one just comes out of the Veil."

"Well, I'm the first. You should record it in your studies."

"How do you know about my studies?"

"I've been watching you, Hermione."

A chill went down the witch's spine.

"You've been feeling a strange pull to be near the Veil, haven't you?" the man said. "A burning sickness that gets worse the longer you're away."

Hermione listened, barely daring to breathe.

"That was me. Pulling your soul to to mine."

The memories flashed back from earlier that night. Her feverish crawl up the steps on the stone warm hand that grabbed hers from behind the Veil.

"It's not possible," she whispered to herself.

"Oh, but Hermione, it is," the man said. "And you are the only one who could have done it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you see, you killed me," he explained. "That is, you destroyed a portion of my soul."

Hermione's heart was beating so hard it hurt. It couldn't be…

"Luckily, I had anticipated this. Years ago, I inoculated that particular fragment of my soul with an ancient preservative magic. While it would not be enough to restore my original form, it conserved a piece of my essence. When destroyed, that piece would then attach itself to a host body."

The man stepped closer to Hermione, and seemed to become even more intimidating.

"The horcrux was destroyed, but the piece of my soul was intact. All it had to do was implant itself into the closest living human at the time of destruction."

The man smiled and crouched down.

"And that, my dear, seems to be you."

Hermione closed her eyes. This couldn't be happening. She watched him die. She knew he was dead.

"So that begs the question, darling" Voldemort said, "who are you, and why did you destroy my horcrux?"

—

As Voldemort explained what happened, Hermione mentally reviewed her options. He was much taller than her, so she had little chance of physically overcoming him. Hermione's only other option was disarming him. The 25-year-old was fairly skilled at wandless magic, but she was worried her weakened physical state had depleted her magical strength. Furthermore, the cave could have wards to prevent magic from unauthorized users. She would have to be smart to get out of this alive.

"Answer my question, witch," Voldemort demanded.

"I've got no idea what you're talking about. I've never heard the term horcrux," Hermione said innocently.

"For such an intelligent which, you're a very poor liar. That's something we'll have to work on."

"Are you mad?" Hermione scoffed, "What makes you think I'm going to work on anything with _Voldemort_?"

Voldemort's eyes flashed, and Hermione instantly regretted her outburst.

"Ah, so you do know who I am. Your clueless act was becoming tiresome," Voldemort said. "We'll have to work on that temper as well. Gryffindor, perhaps?"

Hermione took a deep breath and calmed herself before making any other mistakes.

"Again, what on earth makes you think would I work on anything with you?"

"You see, Hermione, when a fragment of my soul implanted in you, it became bonded with yours," Voldemort explained. "This kind of soul bond is very old, very dark magic. It is comprehensive and irreversible. Our souls are inextricably linked, physically, spiritually, and even magically."

Hermione's head spun.

"That's not possible. No such magic has ever been attempted."

"Darling, I'm sure you know that Lord Voldemort is beyond the limits of possibility."

"There is no way. Absolutely not."

"You're a clever witch. You of all people should know that soul magic cannot be reversed."

Hermione felt sick.

"Give me back my wand."

"I will return it as soon as I'm convinced you won't do anything stupid."

Hermione gazed at him impassively.

"So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell me what you know."

"You are out of your mind if you think I'd ever help you," Hermione scoffed. "I should _Avada _you right there."

"Well then, darling," Tom said smoothly, "you would effectively be killing yourself too. You see, our fates are now linked."

Voldemort Transfigured a glass, filled it with water, and handed it to her. She gulped it down reluctantly.

"Stray too far, and you'll find your magic just as diminished as mine."

"What if I'm willing to die to stop you?"

"You and I both know that's not true, Hermione."

Irritated, Hermione realized he could be right. Maybe she wasn't as noble as she'd thought.

"You're wrong," she lied. "But just because our souls are bonded doesn't mean I'm going to help you."

"I think you'll find that helping me is in your best interest. Here's your wand," Voldemort said, offering it to her.

"Oh, and before you go," he said, "I think I'll be going by Tom now."

"Yeah right, Voldemort". Hermione said, her voice trailing away as she Apparated out.


	3. Chapter 3

_August 20th, 2004_

Hermione woke up in bed the next morning, three minutes before her magical alarm was set to ring. Her tongue felt dry and swollen. She rubbed her eyes until her blurred vision began to shift into clarity.

Hermione lifted her aching body out of bed. She ambled to the kitchen and put pot of tea on the stove, before starting to untangle the mass tumbleweed that was her hair. The witch wasn't sure why her back was so tender. The remnant of some odd dream flashed into her mind, but disappeared just as quickly. She went through her morning ritual, idly fretting over what humiliatingly dull task Firestone had in store for her.

It wasn't until Hermione had a fistful of floo powder held over the fireplace that she remembered.

_Her spine felt like it was being crushed by stones. She could barely focus on the words of the man in front of her. She didn't have her wand. Where was her wand?_

_"The horcrux was destroyed, but the piece of my soul was intact. All it had to do was implant itself into the closest living human at the time of destruction."_

_Danger sirens wailed in Hermione's brain._

_The man smiled and crouched down._

_"And that, my dear, seems to be you." _

_She wanted to cry. This wasn't happening. It wasn't possible. How…?_

_"So that begs the question, darling" Voldemort said, "who are you, and why did you destroy my horcrux?" _

Hermione gasped as the memory struck her. It was a horrible nightmare. Wasn't it?

There was no time to think about this. She was going to be late for work.

"Fuck", she grumbled, and let the floo powder fall.

* * *

Firestone was already on Hermione's tail as the witch hurried to her desk.

"Finally, Granger". Firestone barked.

Hermione's eyes shot to her magical clock. It was two past nine.

"Sorry," she muttered bitterly, settling into her chair.

"I've a load of files I need you to go over," The brunette witch dropped a stack of parchments on Hermione's desk.

"Right, thanks. I'll get right on it" she said.

"Have them on my desk by noon," Firestone said, already halfway out the door.

Hermione sighed and began reviewing the parchment. It was an incredibly dull, decades-old report on some failed experiment in the Love Chamber. She gulped down a cup of coffee within minutes, but even caffeine couldn't stop her mind from wandering to that haunting memory.

Hermione knew it had to be a dream. Voldemort was dead. Everything was fine.

She stepped into the loo to splash some water on her face, then went back to work.

Hermione noticed her skin felt tight and itchy from the cold water. She rifled in her purse for a Muggle moisturizer and slathered it on her skin. Somehow, the thick cream seemed to make it worse. And the more she scratched, the more the itch seemed to spread across her whole body.

Hermione frantically scratched her arms until they were raw and pink. When she saw crimson droplets of blood surface on her wrists, she slammed her hands down on her desk.

What was she doing?

Her mind felt thick and delirious. She just needed to rest her eyes for one moment…

* * *

_Everything was black. She could hear nothing but the gentle drip of water that echoed throughout the cave. _

_Then, a voice pierced the darkness. _

_"Hermione…"_

* * *

"Granger."

Hermione awoke with a gasp. Her body was drenched in sweat. She pushed soaked strands of hair away from her face and looked up to see Firestone looming over her. Her boss sneered as she observed Hermione's disheveled appearance.

"Is that your saliva on the Fawley account?"

"Ms. Firestone, I am so sorry," Hermione said, "I haven't been feeling well lately. I-I must have fallen asleep."

"I really can't believe this. The lack of professionalism here is astounding," Firestone sneered.

Around the small office, Hermione's colleagues were turning in curiosity. Hermione's cheeks burned.

"Again, I'm so sorry-"

"Just go home," Firestone interrupted, "your _work_ is clearly not needed today."

Tears pricked at Hermione's eyes. She gathered her things and rushed to the elevator, head lowered so no one would notice her silent weeping.

Hermione stepped out of the elevator into the crowded Atrium, and spotted a familiar face.

"Harry! Wait!"

Harry turned around.

"Hermione, hi…" he said.

The smile slipped off Harry's lips as he noticed her distress.

"You look…are you okay?"

"No," she said, and took a shuddering breath. "Harry… I think Voldemort could be back."

The world seemed to stop for a moment for both of them. Harry's features set into a grim expression.

"Let's not talk about this here."

The wizard grabbed Hermione's arm firmly, so hard it almost hurt. He led her to the floo area, stated his address, and stepped into the fire.

The two friends landed in the Potters' living room.

The Potter house was warm and well-lit. Their living room was lined with a lush Turkish carpet and painted a muted, rust-colored red. In front of the fireplace stood a large over-stuffed sofa, where Hermione could picture sweet family moments. It reminded her of a grown-up, more tasteful Gryffindor common room. The smell of onions and sausage wafted from the kitchen, stirring Hermione's empty stomach. The sounds of James' babbling were audible over the hiss of the stove.

"Hermione!" Ginny rushed into the living room, waddling slightly.

"Ginny, so good to see you," Hermione said flatly, giving her a stiff hug.

"I'm a house, aren't I!" the pregnant witch laughed, rubbing her belly. "This one's due to arrive any day now."

"Yes, so exciting," Hermione said.

"Are you hungry? I've been cooking up a big sausage and vegetable stew, Harry's favorite!"

"Actually, I can't stay. I just needed to speak to Harry about something," Hermione said, giving him a meaningful look.

"About what?" Ginny asked, but was interrupted by James calling "_Mama!" _

"One moment love!"

The redhead scurried into the kitchen, leaving Hermione and Harry alone.

Harry turned to her gravely. He took a seat on the sofa and motioned for her to join him.

"Tell me what happened," Harry said.

Hermione shook her head and rubbed her swollen face.

"Last night, I…No, I can't explain it. You'll think I'm mad,"

"Try."

"Well, I woke up in the middle of the night with this strange dream. I felt sick, absolutely awful. I tried to floo to St. Mungo's but… somehow, I ended up at the Ministry. And, you know that I've been doing research on the Veil."

Harry nodded. Hermione could see his mind struggling to make the connection.

"Well, I walked into the Death Chamber and… something overcame me. I couldn't control myself, Harry, I was so afraid."

Harry grabbed her hand, concerned.

"Next thing I knew, I just woke up in this…cave… and there he was. Not like I remember him. He was different, younger."

"Who, Hermione?"

Hermione swallowed thickly.

"It was him. Tom Riddle." She said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"How did you know it was him?"

"He told me. He didn't know who I was."

Harry let out a deep exhale.

"That could have been anyone," he said, "they could have been lying to scare you. You don't know what he looked like."

"Harry, I just know. How else would someone come out of the Veil?"

Harry looked at her with worried eyes.

"Hermione… No one can come out of the Veil."

"Believe me Harry, I of all people know that. But I saw it happen."

The wizard looked away, visibly uncomfortable.

"Are you sure? You said you haven't been sleeping lately. Muggle psychologists say lack of sleep can have odd effects on the mind…"

"I know. I thought I was hallucinating, too. But I know I saw him, Harry".

Harry shook his head.

"Honestly, Hermione. It sounds like an especially vivid nightmare. Maybe you remembered the stories I told you of visiting the cave with Dumbledore? I've had plenty of horrible dreams since the war."

"No, I swear to you. I know it sounds mad, but I saw him," Hermione insisted, her voice breaking.

"Okay…" Harry trailed off, "come with me tomorrow to the Aurors department. We'll file a report of your kidnapping, and see what they say."

"But I wasn't…"

Suddenly, a blinding pain shot through Hermione's temples. She clutched her forehead and inhaled sharply. Harry placed comforting arm around her shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

Hermione shook his arm off and stood up.

"I'm fine, I just need the loo for a moment…"

Hermione ambled into the foyer, away from Harry's pitying eyes.

She stepped into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

_She could feel him. _

_She needed him._

Hermione clutched her wand. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew somehow she would end up in the right place. Hermione took a deep breath and Disapparated.

* * *

Hermione stumbled as her feet met cold, squishy earth. She was in some sort of graveyard, maybe in the English countryside. The witch spun around aimlessly, with her wand at the ready, as she surveyed her surroundings. After a few moments, she noticed a tall, pale figure in the distance, leaning against some sort of stone formation. She held her wand out, barely daring to breathe. He walked towards her.

"You lasted longer than I expected. Color me impressed," Tom said. He stopped a good distance away from her, close enough to see the smug expression on his face.

"Stop fucking following me!" Hermione screamed.

Tom gazed back at her impassively. His calm enraged her, and she felt her magical energy flow through her wand.

"_Sectumsempra!_"

Tom sidestepped the curse easily.

"First rule of dueling, Hermione. Never cast while emotional,"

She kept her wand pointed at him. The wood shook visibly as her hands trembled.

"Go away. Just leave me alone," Hermione shouted.

Tom stepped closer.

"I will never leave you alone."

Hermione fell to her knees. The mud soaked her nice work trousers, seeping in and chilling her feverish skin. She wondered how much longer she could withstand this.

"What do you want?"

Tom was right in front of her now.

"I need you to help me repair my corporeal form."

That was not what Hermione was expecting.

"Your…what?"

"Haven't you noticed?" Tom said. He crouched down and offered his hand.

Reluctantly, Hermione reach out to touch him. She gasped. He wasn't as impalpable as a ghost, but his skin has an ethereal quality to it that unsettled her deeply.

"You see, the Veil was only able to store a small part of my essence. I'm still far from mortal."

Hermione listened with rapt attention.

"It will take some incredibly complex spellwork and potion-making to bring me back fully. But I can't very well do that with no wand, no supplies, and no home," Tom hinted.

Hermione let out a sardonic bark of laughter, and stood up.

"How do I get this through your thick skull? I. Will. Never. Help. You."

Tom smirked.

"Well, I'll put it this way. Right now, I am a soulless vapor. Until I reach my corporeal form, the Killing Curse will be ineffective."

Hermione frowned as she processed this information.

"So if you want any chance of killing me, and removing our soul bond, you'll have to help me."

Hermione paused. She pointed her wand at Tom.

"Avada Kedavra".

The sickening green bolt of lightning left her wand. It went right through Tom's torso, hitting a crumbling sculpture behind him. Hermione shrugged.

"Had to make sure you weren't lying."

Tom chuckled.

"I'd expect no less."

Hermione and Tom stared at each other. She sighed.

"I'm not going to give you a wand. You can use mine, with close supervision."

A wave of irritation passed over Tom's face, but he nodded.

"I have a cauldron and potions supplies at home. You will work on the potion as I see fit. Again, with supervision. You will keep me informed on the status of the potion so I know you're not brewing anything else."

"This isn't Pepper-Up." Tom snapped. "It is a volatile potion which requires extremely precise timing. I will need access to the potion at all times."

"Well, I suppose you'll need to ask somebody else, then."

Tom exhaled sharply.

"Fine. Is that all?"

"You'll need to find somewhere to sleep."

"But-"

"These are my terms. Are you coming or not?"

Hermione could see the anger roll off of Tom's figure in waves. For a moment, she was almost afraid. But then, he stepped forward and looped his ghostly arm through hers. With a crack, they apparated away.

* * *

A/N: thanks for all the kind reviews. They are very encouraging :)


	4. Chapter 4

Hours later, Hermione had set up a workspace in the middle of her living room. She had a very well-stocked potions supply, including nearly every ingredient used in _Advanced Potion Making_, and more. Unlike most wizards, she preferred home-brewed potions to store-bought, and would often brew a batch of burn healing paste or cough potion just to calm her mind.

Hermione and Tom had worked together to prepare the first phase of the potion. Fluxweed, knotgrass, and powdered asphodel root were simmering quietly in the brass cauldron, to be left for 80 minutes. Tom had done nothing to arouse her suspicions, which was very suspicious in itself. He was perfectly polite and well-behaved throughout the process. Hermione nearly forgot he was Lord Voldemort, especially since he was dressed in some of Ron's old clothes. She had blushingly insisted he give up the pants that he had transfigured from her black silk nightgown. Now, he was wearing a ratty Quidditch t-shirt and faded jeans. Hermione noticed the clothes fit Tom's body much better than they had Ron's, then suppressed that though to the deepest corners of her mind.

Despite Tom's benign facade, Hermione didn't let her guard down for an instant. Ignoring his respectful cajoling, she had refused to let him hold her wand, performing all necessary charms for the potion.

As the potion bubbled, Tom scribbled out a list of ingredients he would need in the coming weeks. Hermione watched him, frowning.

"How can you be sure that's accurate?"

"I'm certain. I've got near-eidetic memory," Tom said, looking very pleased with himself.

"Well, I'm not going to have you blow up my flat because you added Bouncing Spider instead of Lacewing Spider. what's the name of the potion? I'll see if I have it in my library."

Tom chuckled.

"Ah, this isn't quite the kind of potion you'll find at Flourish & Blotts."

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Just how dark is this?"

The corners of Tom's lips twitched as he surpassed his trademark smirk. That was all Hermione needed to know. She sighed and pondered for a few moments.

"I happen to have access to a very old library. I'm going to pop over and bring back some potions books. You're not to move an inch, do you understand?"

Tom's jaw twitched, but he nodded.

"Actually, you know what?," Hermione said, "_Incarcerous._"

Tom let out a sound of indignation as the magical ropes secured him to his chair.

"This is unnecessary," Tom said through gritted teeth. Please unbind me immediately."

Hermione gave him a withering look. His polite pretense was slipping.

"I told you, if we're going to do this, it's going to be by my rules. It'll be back within the hour."

Hermione stood on the pavement in front of 12 Grimmauld Place. A chill went up her spine as she observed the building's eerie facade. Hermione hadn't been here since the War, and just standing on the street brought painful waves of nostalgia crashing over her. She walked up the steps and magically unlocked the heavy, creaking door.

Now that the War was over, 12 Grimmauld Place belonged to Harry, but Hermione and Ron were still Secret Keepers. Clearly, none of them had visited since. The dark entryway smelled strongly of mildew, and every fixture or piece of furniture was covered in a thick layer of dust. Doxies could be heard scuttling in darkened corners, making Hermione's skin crawl.

The house, which had once been so warm and welcoming, only gave her a feeling of foreboding now. Walburga's incessant screaming didn't help, either.

Hermione took a shuddering breath. What was she was doing? Here she stood, back at Grimmauld Place, a refuge during the bitter and bloody war against Voldemort. But this time, Hermione was here to help him.

It made no sense. But nothing else made sense either. Ron, who was supposed to be the love of her life, had left her. Harry and Ginny were moving on without her. Hermione had once dreamed of an illustrious career in magical research, but at 25, she was relegated to menial office tasks and filing. Throughout her whole time in the magical world, Hermione had always had a mission to complete. Now, this was all she had.

For several minutes, the troubled witch stood in the foyer. She considered apparating back to her flat and telling Tom where he could shove it. But she didn't. She continued down the hall and crept upstairs.

Hermione pushed open the heavy, wooden door to the library and was hit by the comforting smell of old books. It overwhelmed her with a wistful nostalgia that brought tears to her eyes.

Hermione perused the shelves for any dark, ancient-looking potions books she could find. After a long search, she finally selected the notorious _Most Potente Potions_, _Poculum Vetiti_, and a Romanian book whose title she couldn't pronounce. Hermione had also found her old copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. She had left it there shortly after the war, not wanting to carry the sinister book around with her, and now it would be useful once again.

After leaving the library, Hermione descended a floor into the drawing room. On either side of the fireplace, there were two ornate glass-fronted cabinets, which she remembered having cleaned out in the summer of 1995. Hermione opened up the doors and found it as grimy and doxy-infected as it was ten years ago. On the bottom shelf, she found dusty bottles of potions ingredients, some of which she had never heard of. She grabbed as many as she could and shoved them in her purse.

Before Hermione left, she gave a final look to the house. She would probably never visit again. Hermione thought of all her teenage hopes and dreams, the future that once had seemed so promising. Then, she apparated back home.

* * *

After Hermione apparated out, Tom waited a few moments to make sure she was really gone. With a self-satisfied grin, he waved his bound hands and the magical ropes dissolved. This witch had quite underestimated him, just as he expected.

Though Tom's body was incorporeal, he had found that his magical strength was still fairly strong. Back in his time, Tom had been incredibly skilled with wandless magic, and now it only took a little strength to undo the bindings.

When Hermione had left him in the cave, Tom wasn't completely sure what had happened. Behind the Veil, he had hovered sort of dreamlike half-consciousness for several years. Several weeks ago, Tom started to feel a magnetic presence. _Hermione_. The bond between their souls was so powerful, his being called out to hers with every ounce of energy he had. And somehow, Hermione had heard him and saved him.

The first thing Tom had needed to know was the current year. The last thing he remembered was murdering that old bat, Hepzibah Smith, in 1955. Tom assumed the true version of himself was dead, and shuddered at the uncanniness of it all.

Tom had been surprised Hermione was so skeptical of him. She had known his true name- Voldemort- so he must have held some degree of power in her era. Yet somehow, he had failed.

He had walked several miles into a Muggle town, and dug through a trash bin until he found a newspaper. What he saw made his head swim. The year was 2005. It didn't sound real.

Tom didn't have anywhere to go, so he went where was familiar. It took nearly all his strength, but he managed to Apparate into the old graveyard where Hermione was born. He rested there in a strange half-sleep, until he awoke in torment. It was an indescribable pain, like every cell in his body was imploding on itself.

Tom had lain against an old statue for hours, delirious with fever, until he heard the crack of Apparition. His symptoms abated immediately. _She was here._

Upon entering Hermione's flat, Tom's first mission was to find more information on this era. So when he freed himself from the bounds, he made a beeline towards the tall, mahogany bookshelf in the corner of her sitting room.

Though his heart wasn't quite beating, he still felt a throb in his chest as he perused the bookcase. One title in particular caught his eye- a book entitled _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. He pulled it out of the bookshelf, and skimmed the table of contents.

There. _Voldemort's Rise_. So he had been powerful!

His vaporous blood pounded as he processed the implications. But he had no time to think. Tom didn't want to waste precious magical energy, so he manually rearranged the bookshelf to hide the empty space. He shoved the book under the threadbare rug by his chair, where he could more easily reach it.

Tom took a deep breath to steady his nerves and peeked into Hermione's bedroom.

The room was much unlike typical girls' rooms from his time. The room was barren, save a queen size bed with a simple grey comforter, and a modern-looking bedside table. He stepped into the room and went through the bedside table. Earplugs, a bottle of what he assumed was Dreamless Sleep, and a muggle book.

He opened the closet door and, rather than an array of frilly dresses, found a sea of plain-colored pantsuits, cardigans, and trousers. He raised his eyebrows. This Hermione was a bit of a dullard.

Something caught Tom's eye on the top shelf. He felt around for a minute, until he grasped something long and solid. Tom pulled his hand out to reveal a long, slightly bent wand with sinister-looking etchings carved into the wood.

"_Lumos_," Tom cast.

A blinding white light surged from the tip of the wand. Tom extinguished it immediately with satisfaction. It worked beautifully.

Hermione was a very strange witch indeed. Why did she have a spare wand lying around? In his time, at least, having another wizard's wand meant only one thing.

Moving quickly, Tom left Hermione's bedroom and shut the door quietly. He retrieved _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _from under the rug, magically shrunk it, and hid it in the pocket of the jeans Hermione had given him. Then, with the Sticking Charm, Tom attached the wand to his side. He hoped to the gods she wouldn't notice the outline underneath the baggy t-shirt. Finally, Tom sat back into the chair, and waved a hand over his body. The magical bindings coiled around his limbs. Then, he waited.

* * *

Hermione apparated into her living room and dropped the old books onto her coffee table.

"You said within the hour," Tom said, with a slight edge of irritation. His grey eyes pierced her through an errant wave that had fallen into his face.

Hermione swallowed. She still wasn't used to how attractive he was. The bashful witch waved her wand, and Tom's bindings were released.

"Well, I'm back now. I found some questionable potions books and a few ingredients too. You're welcome."

"You nearly ruined the potion. The next stirring sequence is in fourteen minutes."

Hermione rolled her eyes threw _Poculum Vetiti _at him. Tom caught it deftly.

"Here, I assume you can read Latin," Hermione said. "Find the potion you're making or I'm throwing this swamp muck out."

Tom sighed dramatically and began leafing through the worn volume.

"This is an incredibly ancient potion. You can't assume it's going to be recorded in whatever raggedy book you find from the discount bookstore."

Hermione glared.

"For your information, these books come from the library of a respected Pureblood family. not that it even matters."

Tom raised his eyebrows skeptically. Did that mean she was a Mudblood? He said nothing and turned his eyes back to the page. Hermione picked up _Most Potente Potions_ and idly flipped through.

After a few silent minutes, Tom spoke up,

"I've found the potion."

Hermione looked less than convinced.

"Translate it."

"Essentially, it's a potion that restores the corporeal form. It does necessitate a few unsavory ingredients, but otherwise requires no dark magic."

"What about blood magic?"

"No human blood," Tom said.

"I see," Hermione said, grabbing a sheet of parchment. "Tell me the ingredients."

Tom listed off each one while Hermione took notes.

"Okay, most of these I've got," Hermione said, mostly to herself. "I found the crocodile heart and Horn of Bicorn at Grimmauld Place. I suppose I'll be stopping by Knockturn Alley after work tomorrow to pick the rest up."

The magical stopwatch rang. Tom visibly shifted into urgency and reached for a small vial on the worktable.

" I need you to stir as I add the hemlock essence. Now."

Hermione held out her wand and mixed the brew, as Tom poured in the whiteish liquid gingerly. The potion let out a cloud of foul-smelling gas. Hermione gagged.

"Gods, this smells awful. What did you do?"

Tom ignored her, focused on monitoring the potion's change in thickness.

"That's all for now, Hermione. Now the brew needs to simmer for two hours to remove the toxins."

Hermione magically flung open her front door.

"Go."

Tom didn't need to be told twice. He hurried out the door and into the street. When he was out of view of Hermione's flat, Tom pulled out his new wand.


	5. Chapter 5

After sneaking away from Hermione's building, Tom slipped into an alleyway. He had turned the corner into a Muggle neighborhood and didn't want to risk being seen.

Tom gripped the wand in his hand, heart pounding with pleasure as he examined the ornate wooden carvings. The dark-haired wizard took a deep, slow breath to steady his nerves.

Everything was going according to plan. Better, even. Tom certainly hadn't expected to find a wand. That made things considerably easier. He was also surprised how easily Hermione had trusted this made-up potion. Though Tom had pulled off riskier maneuvers, this had been a long shot, especially since the witch somehow knew who he was. Silly girl.

Tom apparated away, and landed back at the cave.

"Lumos."

Tom had slept in the cave on the first night after he materialized. Wandlessly, he had managed to transfigure some pieces of grass into a threadbare pillow.

Tom waved his wand and knit together a plush full size bed, with 600-thread count sheets, from the stony cave floor. He then conjured a fluffy pillow and thick down blanket before he laid down.

Tom noticed he was experiencing a vaguely empty feeling- perhaps hunger- but he wasn't sure that he'd be able to eat in this state. It was impossible to conjure food, anyway. So Tom pulled out the shrunken book from his pocket and enlarged it.

The wizard ran his fingertips across the gold-embossed cover. _The Rise And Fall of The Dark Arts_. It still made Tom's head spin to read his true name in the book's index. He flipped to page 87.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle, later known as Lord Voldemort, was a British wizard born in London on 31 December 1926. The final Gaunt heir, Lord Voldemort is considered to be one of the most powerful wizards of all time._

Tom couldn't help but grin as he read those words. Though he now had nothing, it delighted him immensely to know he had truly been successful in his previous life. If he could feel pure joy, Tom decided, this was it.

Tom skipped over the unsavory sections of his grim childhood and Hogwarts years, and flipped forward to what he last remembered: the mid-1950s.

After murdering that old bat Hepzibah Smith, it appeared that he had disappeared for an entire decade. When he emerged, Tom had begun using the name Lord Voldemort openly. Once again, he had gone to Dumbledore to appeal for the Defense Against The Dark Arts professorship. Tom snarled to find out that he had been rejected. It seemed fitting that Tom's other self had cursed the position, and he mentally patted himself on the back for thinking of something so ingenious.

Tom read ahead ravenously. He had gathered followers, which his other self had dubbed "Death Eaters", and increased his skill in Legilimency to a previously unheard-of level. Then, in 1970, it was none other than Lord Voldemort who started the First Wizarding War.

Tom felt slightly dismayed at readying this. A wizarding war didn't seem in line with his goals. Tom wanted to preserve the wizarding bloodline, not decimate it. Furthermore, he had recruited non-human trash to do his bidding. It was vulgar. He read with distaste as many of his followers were tossed in Azkaban or given the Kiss with no trial.

Naturally, Tom's other self had continued creating Horcruxes, as part of the plan. He knew that this manifestation of his soul had been encapsulated in Hufflepuff's cup. According to this book, the cup had been entrusted to a Lestrange girl, to be locked away in a family Gringott's account. That made it even more inscrutable how Hermione had gotten her hands on it.

Now, the question was, how did Lord Voldemort's empire collapse?

It was baffling. How was it that his past self was willing to risk death to kill an infant, over some silly prophecy by a third-rate Seer? It was absolutely unthinkable. Tom had the urge to throw the book against the cave wall.

What was interesting, though, was that Lord Voldemort's soul had implanted into the baby, much like his soul had Hermione's.

According to the book, Voldemort had lived for many years as incorporeal as he was now, until he had gathered his followers to brew a Rudimentary Body Potion. This was certainly interesting. Tom wondered if there was a record of this potion somewhere- the book only mentioned flesh of a servant, unicorn blood and venom from some snake called Nagini.

The most humiliating part, Tom thought, was how his old self had unfathomably lost to a schoolboy_ six times_. Lord Voldemort must have been ridiculously overconfident to the point of blind negligence. Very embarrassing.

In the Second Wizarding War, though, he'd clearly had the upper hand. His other self had been able to take over the Ministry, and even secure the Elder Wand. Certainly, Harry Potter would have been killed, Tom thought.

But of course, he realized: in joining souls, Lord Voldemort had created a Horcrux within the boy. Thus, there was no way to kill him without also killing himself. The blood bond Voldemort created with the restorative potion meant that Potter was anchored to the living realm. This time, he would have to use the blood of someone he wanted alive, Tom surmised.

But, to Tom's dismay, Harry Potter had emerged victorious. The boy had goaded his other self in the final battle, and his pride had caused him to falter. Lord Voldemort's overconfidence had thwarted him again. It was certainly humbling to read. This man wasn't sharp like him- he was drunk with power, and probably dementia.

At the end, there was a magical picture of his other self. Tom shivered, from the chill or from disgust. Could that have been him? This pale, deathly serpent man?

More than anything, Tom was dismayed at the thought of all the magical blood spilled. This time, he would do things very differently.

* * *

The morning after she was sent home from work, Hermione was dreading her return to the office. Thankfully, Firestone was busy with meetings all day and barely seemed to notice her presence. Hermione ignored the awkwardness around her coworkers and kept her head down.

All ay, Hermione ignored the tugging sensation in the pit of her stomach, the alien magic roiling inside her.

She stayed an extra hour, long after everyone had left, just to make sure her paperwork was flawless.

Just as Hermione was about to leave, she heard a knock on the door of her cubicle. She looked up. It was Harry, sharply dressed in his Auror uniform, with a grim expression on his face.

"Oh, hello Harry. Is everything okay?"

"No, it's not. I came to speak to you about yesterday."

Hermione took a deep breath.

"Right. I'm really sorry about just Disapparating like that yesterday. I- I wasn't feeling well."

"Hermione, what's going on?" Harry demanded. "You come to my house and tell me that Voldemort's back, then you just disappear. Do you realize how mental that is?

"I know, I'm sorry. But I swear to you, it's true," Hermione said in hushed tones, scanning the room to see if anyone was listening. "Tom Riddle is back."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Hermione… you know we're all worried about you. Firestone told me what happened the other day. She says you spend hours down in the Death Chamber, that you seem out of it all the time…"

Hermione scoffed.

"What, is she reporting to you now? What else does she say about me?"

"Never mind that. The point is, you've got to get some help."

"I'm trying to!" Hermione said, louder than she intended, "If you could just let me explain-"

"Look, I don't mean to be harsh," Harry cut her off, "But I can't play this game anymore. Ginny was so upset after what happened, she started bleeding. I had to rush her to St. Mungo's."

"Oh, gods, is she ok?" Hermione asked, feeling the panic rise in her chest.

"She's fine. The Healers said it was just stress, and put her on bed rest."

"Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Can I visit her?"

Harry gave a tight smile.

"Maybe tomorrow. She needs peace and quiet."

"Harry, again, I'm so sorry."

"You know I'm always there for you Hermione, but right now, my family comes first."

Before Hermione had a chance to respond, Harry was already out the door.

* * *

As a ministry worker, being seen in Knockturn Alley was just not done. Hermione could lose her job for this. She clutched the hood of her black cloak protectively before turning the corner from Diagon Alley.

Though the sun had barely set, shadows loomed over the narrow street. Hermione shuffled along the uneven cobblestone, doing her best to blend into the crowd.

More than ever, she was determined to destroy Voldemort's second coming. Hermione had to do this, for Harry and his family, and she had to do it alone. Perhaps there was some ingredient she could add to the potion that would simply dissolve him…

Hermione stopped in her tracks as she saw a familiar bush of red hair.

Ron was walking out of a shop, next to a a tall, thin witch with striking white-blonde hair. Hermione recognized her as Celine Greenwood, a Half-blood socialite who regularly made the Prophet's gossip pages for her wild partying. With a pang, Hermione realized the two were leaving Evelina's Enchanting Erotica, Wizarding Britain's most notorious sex shop.

Before Hermione could duck into an alley, Ron met her eyes. Her chest tightened as old memories, and old feelings, resurfaced.

Hermione waved, then hurried over to the couple.

"Hi, Ron," Hermione said.

"Er, Hermione! Fancy seeing you here. This is my, er, friend Celine,"

Celine shook Hermione's hand, with look on her face like she had smelled something unpleasant.

"Good to meet you," Celine said insincerely. "I've heard so much about you,"

Celine's white-blond hair was razor straight and cut into a flattering bob. She wore precariously high stilettos, and a grey silk dress that skimmed over her tiny waistline. Hermione was suddenly conscious of her ill-fitting work clothes and disheveled curls.

"Ron, would you mind if we could have a word privately?" Hermione said.

Ron smiled, but it looked more like a grimace.

"Sorry, Hermione, but this isn't really a great time."

"Please," Hermione said with pleading eyes. "It's important."

"Alright, I s'pose we can talk for a bit," Ron said reluctantly.

Celine raised her perfectly manicured eyebrows.

"Well, I'll just pop back in the shop and get a little something extra," She said with a sly smile, and tottered back into Evelina's Enchanting Erotica.

Predictable as ever, Ron couldn't resist sneaking a look at Celine's backside as she walked away. Hermione pulled him into an alleyway away from prying eyes.

"Okay, so what's going on?" He said.

"You might think I'm mad for saying this, but please just listen."

"Go on, then."

Hermione took a breath.

"Voldemort is back. I've been studying the Veil, and he was somehow able to contact me and pass through. He isn't in his complete corporeal form, so I'm not in danger, but we need to find a way to completely destroy his soul."

Ron laughed nervously.

"Is this a joke or something?"

"No, Ronald, it's not a joke. You can come back to the flat and see for yourself."

The redheaded wizard shook his head in disbelief.

"We broke up three months ago, Hermione. I'm not going home with you."

"Oh, shut up, will you? This is serious," Hermione snapped.

"Look, I talked to Harry," Ron said. "He said you seemed a bit off. They're both really worried about you."

Hermione wanted to throw her hands up in exasperation.

"If I seem "off" it's because I'm scared! He's back and both of you are in denial. It's like our fifth year all over again."

"I understand, you know," Ron said gently, "Harry and Ginny have started their own life. I've moved on. It makes sense that you'd miss the old times when we were all together."

"What?" Hermione spluttered. "That is _not_ what this is, Ron."

"Isn't it? Hermione, this isn't ok. Ginny's pregnant and you've scared her half to death. Harry probably told you what happened. For everyone's sake, stop this now."

Hermione wanted to scream. But instead, she plastered a polite smile on her face.

"Have a nice day, Ronald," Hermione said.

Pulling her hood back up over her head, Hermione turned out of the alleyway, and hurried into the potions shop.

* * *

Hermione took a deep breath. Calm washed over her as she savored the slightly stale, musky scent of the apothecary. The faint sound of bubbling brews in the back room filled her with comfort. Hermione had never been to a potions shop in this side of the tracks, and marveled at the incredibly tiny, slightly suspicious-looking jars that lined the shelves.

"Hello there, Miss Granger," said the old crone behind the counter. " Welcome to Madame Mulpepper's Apothecary."

"Hello," Hermione said, voice thick with suppressed tears. "Er, have we met?"

"Everyone knows who you are, even with that dark cloak, little witch."

Hermione smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, well, yes."

Clutching the ingredients list, Hermione filled several phials with exotic substances, some of which she had only read about. The witch gently placed the phials out on the scratched wooden counter. With the wave of Madame Mulpepper's wand, they floated over to enormous magical scale. Hermione noticed the old witch had one milky, blind eye; while the other was an impossibly vibrant blue.

"Seventy three galleons," croaked the old witch.

"Wow", Hermione choked, "these aren't cheap".

Hermione dug for her Muggle wallet, somewhere in the bottom of her magically extended leather satchel. She reluctantly handed over the exact change.

"You're more powerful thank they know."

Hermione froze. Madame Mulpepper was staring at something behind her. Hermione glanced around the room, but there was no one else in the shop.

"Sorry? More powerful than _who_ knows?"

"They'll realize it soon," Madame Mulpepper said.

The crone smiled enigmatically and handed Hermione a velvet satchel filled with the ingredients she had purchased.

"Thank you, dear. Have a lovely day," said the old witch, as though nothing had just happened.

—

Hermione apparated home around quarter past six. She set down her bags, put a pot of hot water on the stove.

As she waited for her tea to boil, Hermione considered the day's events with a surprising detachment. If the roles had been reversed, Hermione supposed, she wouldn't have believed it either. But neither Harry or Ron had even given her the benefit of the doubt. Weren't they supposed to be her best friends?

Treacherous tears began to run down Hermione's cheeks. It was pathetic, but relieving somehow. In that moment Hermione ached for Ron's touch. She missed having someone there for her, even if just to chat idly with while they watched reruns on the beat-up Muggle TV set. How did things get so fucked up? What if she was really going mad, like everyone thought?

"Tempus," Hermione cast, her voice scratchy and raw.

It was nearly seven. From her kitchen window, Hermione could see Tom standing outside, leaning against a lamp post. She raised her hand in a nonchalant wave. The dark-haired wizard gave her a nod, then entered the building. She flicked her wand at the doorknob, shooting a glance at the potion timer in the other room. Twenty minutes.

"You're a bit early, Hermione said brusquely, as Tom walked in. "I haven't had time to eat yet."

The closer Tom got, Hermione noticed the strange tugging sensation in her stomach again. This time, it was almost pleasurable. She could feel Tom's magic crackle against hers, like static electricity.

"Well, eat now. I'll be needing your help in a few minutes." He said, equally deadpan.

"The ingredients are in the velvet bag," Hermione said.

Hermione grabbed some five-day-old leftovers from a Muggle Chinese restaurant and tossed them in the microwave. While Tom set up the work table, Hermione sat on the couch and watched him prepare ingredients.

"What's wrong?"

"Excuse me?"

"You look upset." Tom said neutrally.

"That's none of your business," Hermione choked, mouth full of lo mein.

Tom smiled politely.

"That's not very attractive, you know."

Hermione was about to formulate a scathing retort, until she noticed Tom mixing the Re'em blood with the powdered hemlock.

"What in Godric's name are you doing?" Hermione shrieked, spilling the rest of her noodles on the sofa.

"I'm mixing the Re'em blood with powdered hemlock," Tom said politely.

"I can see what you're doing, you idiot! You're ruining the ingredients I just spent nearly one hundred galleons on. If you had half a brain, you'd know that you never, ever mix Re'em blood with a dry ingredient."

Tom gazed at Hermione impassively as she berated him.

"Actually, I've infused the blood with a little wasp venom. The venom's alkaline properties neutralize the acidity of Re'em blood."

She was about to protest, until she observed the chemical reaction occurring on the oak table. Instead of oxidising, the Re'em blood preserved its deep crimson color.

Hermione's mind raced.

"So since the blood stays chemically stable, it can be mixed with other unstable components" she said breathlessly.

Tom flashed her a winning smile.

"Smart girl."

"Well, this has incredible implications for strengthening potions. It would mean Briffault's Theory of Balances is faulty."

Tom was impressed.

"That's exactly right. And that means that theoretically, this blood can create a more potent strengthening potion than ever achieved."

Hermione's mind raced with the possibilities.

"Let me get my notebook out. I need to write this down".

As he watched the impassioned, frizzy witch fly across the room, Tom felt the corners of his lips treacherously give way into something that was very nearly a genuine smile.

* * *

_This chapter is a bit slow. I have the next couple scenes nearly finished so bear with me :)_


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione's magic alarm blared.

"For Godric's sake, not again."

Hermione was tired of waking up in strange places with aches and pains. For just one night, she wanted to have a night of restful sleep in her warm, soft bed. But yet again, the witch had woken up on the floor surrounded by books.

Hermione's neck was propped up on the arm of her sofa. The edge of a thick tome was digging into her spine. She massaged the pulsing muscles in the small of her back.

"That looked uncomfortable," a man's voice said.

Hermione jumped. There was Tom, sitting by the potion, prepping ingredients for the next round of stirring.

Last night had been odd. Hermione remembered going over her notes late into the night, searching for cracks in her theories. She had feverishly rifled through her potions books, and bounced ideas off of Tom. His mind was simply fascinating. He possessed such a wealth of knowledge, with wonderfully innovative ideas on everything from cauldron materials to modified stasis charms.

The two had spent hours delving into Potions theory, in a way that Hermione couldn't remember doing since her Hogwarts days. But in the cold morning light, Hermione felt slimy for intellectually collaborating with a future genocidal maniac.

Self-consciously, she ran a hand through her matted curls.

"What are you still doing here?" Hermione snapped.

"Good morning to you too, Hermione." Tom said, a cloying smile playing on his lips.

Hermione lifted her aching body off the ground, and placed her hands on her hips in an attempt to look authoritative.

"Please go. I've got to get ready for work."

Tom sighed, as if he were a patient adult dealing with a toddler's tantrum.

"I really should stay to make sure the potion doesn't boil over," he explained. "I wouldn't want to ruin this… lovely carpet"

Hermione's cheeks pinked as she eyed the greying, threadbare rug.

"You'll come back this evening like we agreed. Go slither off to wherever you came from."

"Remember, quarter to seven," Tom said, and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

After a particularly dull day at work, Hermione was mindlessly filing the last reports of the day. It took everything in her power to keep her mind off Tom.

Something about the situation was niggling at the back of her mind. Of course, it felt wrong to be working with Voldemort altogether. But last night, she had actually enjoyed brewing with him somehow.

Every time Hermione closed her eyes, she saw Harry and Ron's pitying faces. And poor Ginny, frightened into bed rest. What would they think of her?

After leaving the Ministry, Hermione stopped by a Muggle flower shop and purchased a bouquet of pink chrysanthemums. Then, she snuck into an alley and apparated to the Potters'.

The Potter house was heavily warded with a sophisticated security system. It was a complex bit of magic that was able to recognize the magical energy of each visitor.

Hermione felt the wards fall as they identified her, and entered the house.

"Hi there, Ginny."

Ginny's eyes lit up at seeing Hermione at her bedroom door. Even bed-ridden and pajama-clad, the expectant witch looked effortlessly beautiful, with radiant skin and thick copper hair piled on top of her head.

"Hermione! I'm so glad you came. Come here!"

Hermione bent over to embrace a very pregnant Ginny.

"How are you feeling? Is everything okay?"

"Yes, I'm just fine. The healers said it was a little stress and overexertion, nothing to worry about."

"Oh, good."

Hermione conjured a glass vase and water, and set the bouquet down on the bedside table.

"Those are lovely, thank you!" Ginny gushed. "Harry should be back soon. He's just gone to the Burrow to pick up James"

"Oh, no, it's alright. I just wanted to pop by quickly to make sure you were okay."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Of course I am. You know Harry, he loses it at the smallest thing. He was an absolute nightmare when I was pregnant with James."

Hermione gave a weak smile, and sat on the edge of the bed. A heavy silence passed.

"I'm so sorry, Ginny," Hermione finally said.

The redhead gave her a quizzical look.

"What for?"

"Coming over and scaring you all like that. I don't know what I was thinking."

Ginny sighed and grabbed Hermione's hand.

"Hermione… how have you been lately?"

"I've been alright. Work is a bit stressful, but other than that, everything's fine."

"Harry said… that you told him You-Know-Who's back."

"I know."

"What did you mean by that? I'm concerned, Hermione. You haven't seemed quite like yourself lately."

The brunette witch closed her eyes to stop her eyes watering.

Hermione wanted to tell Ginny everything. But how could she? With a young child and a baby on the way, Ginny was last person who should be involved. And if Harry and Ron hadn't believed her, why would this time be any different?

"Things are strange right now, but I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Good. Love you, 'Mione."

Hermione rolled her eyes. No one had called her that for years.

"Love you too, Gin".

"I'll see you Sunday!" Ginny called out as Hermione stood up to leave.

Hermione frowned.

"Er… Sunday?"

"It's my baby shower, remember?" Ginny said, "be at my mum's around one."

"Right, sorry. I'll be there!" Hermione promised.

* * *

Hermione arrived home just before six, giving her enough time to prepare for Tom's arrival.

The lovely moment with Ginny had been a distraction from the situation, but now that she was alone, the panic set in.

Hermione knew she was playing with fire. Tom was one of the most dangerous wizards in history, for Godric's sake. But if Hermione just destroyed the potion and kicked him out, who knew what way Voldemort would find to come back? What if his soul implanted in someone else, someone weaker?

She sat at the kitchen table with a cup of earl grey, gazing out at the overcast skyline. The hot tea soothed Hermione's twisting stomach and cleared her mind.

Hermione remembered the books she had collected from Grimmauld Place. There was still one left that she hadn't yet read.

"_Accio _beaded bag," Hermione cast.

She fished the heavy volume out of the bag and set it down on her kitchen table.

Even with magic, it took her nearly fifteen minutes to translate the entire book from Old Romanian to English. The dusty tome was old enough to trick even Hermione's translation charm, which she had meticulously perfected over seven years.

When she was done, Hermione ran her hands over the worn blood-red cover. _Magia Sufletului și Artele întunecate_\- Soul Magic and the Dark Arts. She cracked it open and skimmed quickly through each chapter.

According to _Magia_, most soul bonding rituals required consent from both parties. However, Dark rituals could bind two souls without the other person even knowing. Presumably, this was the bond between she and Tom.

These Dark bonds had unique features. For one, they caused intense discomfort when the bonded souls were apart for too long. That explained the mysterious illness that had been plaguing her.

The other feature of Dark bonds was that they were unbreakable. The only way to sever a Dark bond, Hermione read, was the death of both souls. If one soul were to die, the other would soon follow.

Once the potion restored Voldemort's corporeal body, Hermione would kill him. And in doing so, she would kill herself.

Hermione felt strangely detached from the idea of her death. It was almost comforting. For the first time in years, at least, Hermione's life would mean something.

Hermione hid the old book behind her copy of Pride and Prejudice, and waited for Voldemort to return.

* * *

_This was originally going to be one long chapter, but I decided to split it. Next one coming soon!_


	7. Chapter 7

Tom had apparated from the sea cave, and found himself a few blocks away from Hermione's flat. After hiding the stolen wand in his baggy jeans, Tom took the poorly lit side street to the flat, marveling at how London had changed in the fifty years since he'd last seen it.

So far, his plan was working. The potion was coming along smoothly, with only a few weeks left until it was finished. And most importantly, Hermione still suspected nothing.

She was intelligent, though, far more than any witch from his time. The previous night, Hermione had shown her passion for theoretical Potions was nearly as strong as his. Tom deemed most people too brain-dead to waste time speaking to, but he found himself with a grudging respect for this witch.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, their bond was growing stronger with every minute spent in each other's company. At this stage of development, Tom and Hermione would be able to separate for up to a day without discomfort. After that, the headaches, nausea, and chills would begin to set in.

When the potion was complete they would, of course, need to consummate. Their sexual union would solidify the bond, anchoring Tom's soul to his new corporeal form. Tom still wasn't sure how he'd get her to agree; Hermione was one icy witch.

At least, Tom thought, he'd have nearly a month to get under her skin. He approached the building and waited to be let in.

* * *

The coil of tension in Hermione's abdomen seemed to relax as soon as Tom entered the flat. Her body flooded with an odd pleasure that made her flustered and annoyed.

"I've had the workspace set up already," she said without looking at him.

Tom bent down to have a whiff of its bitter fumes.

"This portion of the potion is going to be a little more time-consuming," Tom said. "I'm going to need your help with preparing the ingredients".

He took a seat at the worktop, giving Hermione a meaningful glance that she pretended not to notice.

"Okay".

Hermione sat down beside him on the bench, shuffling over so as not to be too close. She took a phial of filly grass and began to chop the blades into fine pieces.

"You'll have to be incredibly precise," Tom said.

Hermione shot him a withering look.

"I know how to chop filly grass."

"I'm sure you do, Hermione, but this potion requires painstaking precision."

"Something's painful, all right," Hermione grumbled under her breath.

Tom bit his tongue. Her insolence enraged him. His hand itched to pull out his wand and give Hermione a few rounds of the Cruciatus Curse. But the plan was too important to throw it away on one indulgent torture session.

"Has anyone told you you're a bit abrasive?" Tom asked.

"Why would I be nice to you?"

"Well, I've been nothing but polite, myself."

Hermione barked out a bitter laugh.

"A polite murderer is still a murderer."

Tom paused.

"Is this about my… other self? "

Hermione froze.

She hadn't even considered wether Tom had any idea of who he would become. If he didn't, Hermione had leverage. She would need to proceed carefully.

"How old are you, anyway?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice level.

"I'm twenty-nine."

Hermione did the math. That meant Tom's last memories would have been sometime in the late 1950s. Technically, she realized, this version of Voldemort wasn't even Voldemort. He was just a troubled young man with some very dark plans.

Hermione snuck a look at Tom. His chiseled features were set into a concentrated expression, and an errant curl had fallen into his face. It was strange to think he would transformed into a serpentine monster in the matter of a few decades.

Tom met her eyes unflinchingly.

"Did you know me?"

Hermione smiled sardonically.

"You could say that."

"I'm sorry."

Hermione nearly chopped off the tip of her thumb in surprise.

"What for?"

"Whatever it was that my other self did."

The witch looked away, staring into the swirling cauldron.

"It's time to stir," she said, grabbing her wand.

Tom sensed he was broaching a sensitive topic. Now that she was vulnerable, it was time to extract a little information.

"What is it that you do at the Ministry? Tom asked.

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Why?"

"I'm just curious."

"I'm an assistant to a Department head. No security clearance. So you can't use me to infiltrate the Ministry, if that's what you were thinking."

"That's it? Filing papers and organizing meetings?"

"It's a perfectly good position," Hermione snapped.

"Of course. It's just a little surprising."

Hermione looked at Tom like she was seconds away from _Avada_.

"What's surprising about it?"

"Someone with your intelligence could easily have taken a research apprenticeship straight out of Hogwarts. Your magical strength is wasted on menial administrative work."

Hermione felt a pang in her chest. She knew it was true, so she said nothing.

"Well, of course there's the matter of your background."

"My background?"

"You're not part of the twenty-eight families, unless they've changed somehow since my time," Tom began. "You've got a Muggle TV, Muggle books, and wear Muggle clothes. So I'd wager a guess that you're Muggle-born."

Hermione's blood boiled over.

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I am Muggle-born. And thankfully, in my time, Muggle-borns hold equal rights as members of Wizarding society. So I'd be very careful what you say."

The hint of a smirk passed over Tom's face.

"Is that really true, though?"

Hermione scoffed.

"Excuse me? Some of the most accomplished wizards and wizards in history were Muggle-born. In fact-"

"Yes, yes, I'm aware," Tom interrupted. "And I admit I may be out of touch with the current era. But can you honestly say that Muggle-borns are held in the same regard as Purebloods?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

"Exactly. The wizarding world is no meritocracy- it's all about blood. That's why you're an assistant, and there's probably some Pureblood dolt mucking about in the position you should have had."

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"So what? You're saying you want a society that's all rainbows and equality?"

"Not quite," Tom smirked. "In magical society, power should simply go to those most deserving of it."

"Right. And that entitlement has nothing at all to do with pure magical blood?"

"Not blood status per se. It's intelligence and magical ability that are important. Of course, statistically, Pureblood wizards are more magically powerful-"

"Well of course they are, when they get to practice magic on holidays!" Hermione snapped. "They have supportive magical families, access to tutoring and libraries. The inequality begins at birth."

"I completely agree with you," Tom said.

Hermione paused.

"You… you do?"

"Of course," Tom said. "That's why my aim has always been to create reforms that allow Muggle-borns to better integrate into magical society."

Hermione snorted.

"What, by euthanizing them?"

"No, Hermione," Tom sighed. "By placing them with magical families who can foster their growth and give them better opportunities."

"What? You can't just take a child away from his family!"

Tom pursed his lips. Hermione's altruism was getting tiresome. Yet he had to admit it was almost endearing.

"It's either that, or letting power lie in the hands of the Twenty-Eight forever. I don't suppose you have a better idea?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. She didn't.

"Either way, I don't agree with you," Hermione sniffed.

Tom said nothing.

Wizarding Britain may have underestimated Hermione Granger, but he wouldn't be so foolish.

_You'll come around sooner than you think_, Tom thought.


End file.
